For Amy
by Aila Paje
Summary: Struck by tragedy and forced to move to France, Amy Lucia is thrown about in her new life at the Opera Populaire. With threats like the lecherous Leon, a perverted dancer and a mysterious someone who threatens her though notes, Amy must try to find her place in the Opera. However, she breaks under her burden and the man who once hated her begins to change his mind about her...
1. Teaser

He remembered the last scene of their play as he entered his sanctuary and decided. Christine had left with wretched Raoul, he was never going to see her again. Her memory turned to ash with the Opera Populaire. Now it was time to rise from the ashes, try to stop mourning what could never be rebuilt. He looked past his little pool of soot and saw Amy, a light in the darkness of his solitude.  
>A glass goblet shattered on the floor. The rift grew wider and he felt dizzy as his eyes were opened. Amy was his last chance to right his wrongs, to leave his past, he could not lose her. But to keep Amy, Christine had to go.<br>He ripped Christine from his heart like a squirming parasite. He threw what was left of his drawings and music into a pile near the lake. The change was violent and painful and every last scrap of his past had to be eradicated. He threw out his old suit, his models, Christine's dress, everything that brought back painful memories. He fell to his knees as he set the pile alight, tears spilling down his face. His mask was the only piece of his past that remained, his only comfort in the storm.  
>He groped his way to his organ, blinded by his tears, and grabbed a pen and paper. He brought them down to the floor and scrawled to words with trembling hands.<p>

_For Amy_


	2. Chapter 1

She pulled the needle through the shiny blue fabric the last time and tied the thread off. The dress was heavy on her legs with its layers of cotton and ribbon. She held up the dress and admired her work. Not a stitch out of place and she didn't have to ask for major help once.

"How beautiful!" said her mother, looking up from the sleeve she was mending. "Mrs. Gill will simply love it!"

Amy smiled and put the dress back down. Giving her projects away was always the hardest part of her job. She rose and put the dress in a cloth bag to hang on a rack. Mrs.. Gill would be collecting her dress on Monday, just in time for the Christmas Ball downtown. Amy would have loved to go to the ball, similarly to Cinderella, but she had to stay home and help her mother mend gowns and sew custom outfits. Adjusting the dress bag on the rack, Amy sighed. What she wouldn't do to dance with a dashing young man at a ball, dressed in finery, her hair tied back with ribbon and pearls.

"Amy! We're leaving!" called a pair of voices from the front room. Amy snapped out of her dream and rushed towards the voices, stuffing a freshly embroidered pair of handkerchiefs in her apron.

Silently, Amy crept up behind one of the three tall figures in the room and threw her arms around his neck. He thrashed and spun Amy off, laughing, all of his teeth showing through his broad smile.

"Didn't think you were leaving without saying goodbye did you?" said Amy. The other two men turned and smiled.

"That would be such a terrible crime!" Said the older one, Amy's father. "Why would we ever do that?" He embraced Amy and kissed her on the forehead and Amy kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye darling. I promise we'll be home soon." Amy hugged him again and he opened the heavy wooden door, letting in a billow of frigid winter air.

"No!" shouted one of the younger men. "Shield the little rose from the cold!" He and the other threw their arms around Amy, squishing her between their thick wool coats.

Amy pushed at them. "Lemme go! Can't breathe!" she laughed. The door closed and they released her and she pretended to be hurt, holding her arm which had been stuck between them. "Ow."

The first man's face changed from glee to astonishment. "Oh, did we squish your bad shoulder? Oh my gosh, so sorry!" he said, putting a gentle hand on hers. The other clasped his hands to his face and drew an anxious breath. Amy had pulled something in her shoulder bringing in new bolts of heavy winter cloth and they knew it had been sore for a while.

Amy threw off his hand and laughed. "Gotcha!" she said. She swung her arm around to show it felt fine and her brothers sighed with relief. "You two believed me!"

"Don't do that to us!" said the second brother, hands on his knees. "You nearly gave me a heart-attack!" They laughed again and Amy remembered the handkerchiefs. She pulled the pieces of cloth from her apron and handed one to each of her brothers.

"Mother taught me to stitch names and I made these for you." she said. One was pale green with dark green and brown stitching of leaves and the name 'Malachai'. The other was red with pumpkins and the name 'Darius'.

"Wow sis, thanks!" they said together.

"Ha! Pumpkins! You remember that?" said Darius, holding out his handkerchief. Amy had stitched him pumpkins in remembrance of the autumn before last when he was ill and accidentally fell asleep holding a pumpkin he was supposed to be carving. Everyone was hysterical seeing how he slept with his face on the pumpkin, as if he were hugging it. He stuffed the cloth into his coat pocket and gave Amy another hug. Malachai wrapped his arms around Amy and his twin and they both thanked her again.

They let go and Amy stood, holding their gloved hands. Darius's middle finger had a hole in it and Amy planned to mend it when they returned home. She looked at the two of them and felt something strange inside her. It was as if she were looking at the paintings of long-dead kings, cold and detatched. She stared at their faces until Malachai snapped her out of her daze.

"Amy, we've got to go now." he said, shaking her arm.

"Oh, yes, I forgot for a while there." said Amy. "Goodbye, guys." They hugged one last time and ventured into the winter air. Amy was left in the front room, holding her arms against the cold. She loved it when her grandmother came to visit but it was saying goodbye that was the hardest. How Amy hated goodbyes. She shook herself and went back into the living room/work room to help her mother with the mending.

_

Later that evening, Amy and her mother were sitting quietly at the dinner table getting ready to eat. Her mother bowed her head to say grace and she thanked God for all of their blessings, however small, for Amy's skill and for her family to have a safe ride to her mother-in-law's and back. After the blessing was said, they dug in to their modest meal of bread, cheese and potato soup. As usual, her mother's bread was exquisite and Amy wondered to herself as she did often why her mother was not a baker rather than a seamstress. She had asked her mother the same question before and she simply replied 'sewing's in my blood, flour is just on my hands'. Her mother never was a very talkative person, nor was her father.

After dinner, it was Amy's turn to wash the dinner plates and when the table was cleaned up, Amy headed upstairs to find her embroidery. Embroidering or 'stitching' as her mother called it, always calmed her down especially after a goodbye-day. She sat on her small lilac bed upstairs and picked up her stitching. Stretched on the ring was her latest project, a picture of a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. She hoped to finish it by Christmas so she could frame it and hang it on the door. Christmas was only two and a half weeks away and she wasn't very close to being done yet.

Just as Amy readied her needle and pushed the green thread through the canvas, she heard a knock on the front door. Her mothers soft footsteps walked across the floor and the door opened. Muffled voices were heard below along with a gasp from her mother. The door closed and there was a thud. Amy sprang out of bed, throwing her tree on her bedside table and was halfway down the stairs when she heard her mother's sob.

She was sitting on the floor, face in her hands and back against the floor. Her legs sat at an odd angle and her entire form shook with every cry. Amy rushed over and knelt beside her, asking what had happened. Her gut wrenched around as she waited for her mother to compose herself enough to speak.

Her mother lifted her face from her hands, wet with tears and looked into Amy's eyes. She sat up straight, lip trembling and took Amy's hands.

"Amy, there was a messenger," she started. Every word came out choked and pained. "He said that- that-" she started crying again.

Hysterical, Amy seized her mother's arms. "What was it? What did he say?" she begged. Her eyes began to tear up as if she already knew the answer.

"Peter and the boys are dead!" her mother cried. She buried her face in her hands again and sobbed louder than before. "Their carriage crashed! All of them!"

Amy was paralyzed. Her mind tried to wrap itself around the news. Just a few hours earlier she had been holding their hands. Darius's glove needed mending. Malachai was up to his usual antics. They had laughed. Tears spilled from her eyes and she leaned over to hold her mother. Together they cried and wailed for nearly an hour. They cried until their eyes were sore. They cried until they thought they could cry no more, but the tears would not stop.

Eventually, Amy rose and went to the kitchen and stiffly made tea for her and her mother. Tears re-erupted while they sipped and in the end, they poured half of their cups out. That night, Amy and her mother didn't bother changing into pajamas and simply slept in their dresses. They spent the night in her mother's bed for neither of them could bear sleeping alone that night.

In the dark, Amy heard her mother cry a few more minutes before she fell asleep. Amy, however, stayed awake for hours, eyes wet but never crying. She simply stared off into the dark, wishing she would either fall asleep or have the energy to move, but neither wish came true, leaving her still staring.

_

Dawn broke and Amy woke to the smell of eggs, bacon and biscuits. She came out of the room and found her mother cooking, her movements slow and even. Amy knew her mother to be like this when she was depressed. When her mother had died two years ago, she couldn't stop baking and soon, they were giving away bread and pastries to friends and family. Now, her mother had cooked a breakfast fit for a lord or someone similar.

On the table lay a spread of food, warm and inviting. Foods like cinnamon porridge, French toast, fried eggs, bacon and sausage lay on many serving plates, but Amy couldn't think of eating. She simply wandered up to her room and sat on her bed, still as a statue. She couldn't sew or move or think. For nearly an hour she went on like this, brooding in her room as the sun came up. Her mother came in and offered some breakfast, but Amy shook her head silently. Her mother came over and sat by her and stroked her hair. Tears trickled down Amy's cheeks and her mother soon followed suit.

The rest of the day slugged by in dreary depression. The shop was closed for the day and one persistent customer had to be explained to, causing another shower of tears. Amy ate nothing save a bit of her mother's bread she baked that day. She slept for part of the day and tried to do some stitching, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Near evening both Amy and her mother began to realize what had to happen next.

Amy came down the stairs to the all-too-familiar smell of pumpkin soup. The smell reminded her painfully of Darius's red handkerchief, now probably not noticeably stained with his blood. The thought brought tears to her eyes again and she bit her lip and pushed it from her mind. Her mother was already eating when Amy took her seat. She ladled herself a bowl of soup, knowing full well she would never eat it. She stared at the bowl for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

"Mother-" she started. How would she ever tell her? "Mother, you know the shop doesn't make much money..." She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. Speech was much too taxing and she hoped her mother would understand what she meant.

"I understand, darling." her mother said, reaching out to hold her hand. "This little shop will never be able to support both of us without..." She trailed off too, the subject of her husband being too raw to approach.

They both understood. Amy would have to get a job elsewhere, but not live with her mother or else they could never pay for their relatively large house.

"My brother lives in Paris and I hear work is ripe over there." said her mother. "I have a bit of money left for your fare. Your uncle will most likely be here they day after tomorrow for the funeral. I'm going to speak with the undertaker tomorrow about it."

That was the end of their conversation. Amy ate a bit of bread and drank some water before going up to bed again. She hated what she had to do, but there was no other way. First her father and brothers, and now she was going to leave. She drifted off to a restless sleep, dreaming of the broken bodies of her father and brothers, lying in the snow. Their blood stained the ice and Darius's handkerchief drifted in the red pool over to her feet where she picked it up, letting the red run over her hands and down her arms.


	3. Chapter 2

The next morning, Amy woke again to the smell of her mother's cooking. She dragged her leaden body out of bed, realizing just how hungry she was. She went downstairs to an equally large breakfast as the day before. Her mother's eyes were red from crying, but her smile was warm and welcoming as she sat at the table. Amy took several pieces of bacon, two eggs, half a bowl of porridge, a sausage, and a piece of French toast. She ate ravenously and drank two cups of breakfast tea before brushing her hair, dressing in fresh clothes and bundling in her winter coat and hat. Her mother also readied herself and put on warm clothes, then the two of them headed out for the funeral home.

Amy's family lived almost on at the end of their street, near the hat shop and the tobacco shop. The funeral home was only two blocks away and as far as Amy knew from a letter they received early in the morning, Amy's father and brothers were being cremated for the following day. Now they were going over to confirm a time for the funeral.

The funeral home was drab and dully lit, but it was still warmer than outside. The undertaker waited for them in the foyer and led them into the meeting room where they discussed a time for the funeral. After just a few minutes, they agreed on three o'clock. Soon, they were walking back home.

The rest of the day dragged on similarly to the one before, except instead of sluggishly cooking, Amy's mother sluggishly helped her pack her trunk. Amy didn't have too many belongings, but it did take careful planning and folding to get all of her clothes to fit in the trunk. She also started packing another case for other items like her hat, old curlers, stitching, sparse jewelry and her few decorations from her room. By the time her bags were full, it was dinnertime. They ate a meal similar to the one before, but instead of pumpkin, they had potato soup. The dull day finally ended in the pair going to bed again, Amy and her mother finally being able to bear sleeping alone.

_

The next day, Amy woke without the smell of breakfast. Instead, after she dressed in her black mourner's clothes, she found her mother cradling an old coat of her husband's rocking in their rocking chair. She seemed to be on the verge of tears, but was biting her lip so she wouldn't cry. Amy drank a cup of breakfast tea and had bread and jam to begin her day while her mother wasn't hungry, though Amy offered to get her something several times.

Time crept on, they had a small lunch and when the clock on the wall read two-thirty, they left for the funeral. Amy's mother pulled on her best coat and Amy tied on the scarf she hardly ever used except for special occasions. They numbly walked to the funeral home where the undertaker and the priest of the Amy's church waited. They talked for a short while and Amy's mother refused to give a speech for fear of losing her composure and at three o'clock, visitors started filtering through.

It was sadly amazing how fast word got around. There were several of her father's work friends from the market, a couple of aunts who could brave the icy roads, countless church friends, cousins Amy hadn't seen in five years or more and even the man from the tobacco shop. The gathering was glum, but there were some lighthearted moments. The tobacco man offered Amy a free cigar and she giggled weakly and refused. She hated it when her father smoked the nasty things, but the thought of her father was too painful now.

Amy was barely present for the Mass given after calling hours and when the final prayer had been said, she went up to collect her brother's urns. Her gut wrenched at the sight of them. The white ceramic jar with painted leaves and flowers were so unlike her brothers. She ought to paint them a different color if she had time, but almost as soon as she got home, the uncle from Paris showed up on their doorstep, having seemed to have avoided them during the funeral.

"So this is the young dame I'll be taking back with me. You mother spoke with me at the funeral." he said as he hung his coat inside the door. "Pretty little thing. Can't believe she's my brother's child." he had a faint French accent, but most of his English side showed.

"Bonjour, oncle Samuel." said Amy. She knew a little French and hoped to show him she wouldn't be completely helpless in France.

"Ah, see? She's already there." He clapped Amy's mother on the arm and invited himself in. "I'm afraid we can't leave now. I'm going to have to stay here a night and we'll leave tomorrow." He kicked off his shoes and made himself at home, seating himself at the dinner table. "Nice place by the way."

"Thank you." said Amy's mother. "You can stay in my room. I will sleep in the boy's room." she said. She sat herself in the rocking chair and preceded to gaze off into nowhere.

Amy went to the kitchen to prepare some sort of supper. She quickly re-heated the leftover potato soup and cut a few pieces of bread and cheese and set them on the table in front of her uncle. He smiled gleefully and dug in to the meager dinner. Meanwhile, Amy changed into her day clothes and put her black mourner's gown in her trunk. When she came back down, her uncle had finished dinner and was lounging, putting is feet up on the kitchen table. Outside the window, the sun had set, so Amy offered to show her uncle to his room for the night.

"Why, that would be just fine." He said, removing his feet from the table. "Lead the way mademoiselle." He bowed mockingly as if she were a fine lady and she showed him to the room. He almost immediately began undressing when he was in the room, much to Amy's dismay. She promptly turned and went up to her room, realizing how tired she was. Sleep came easily that night, but was interrupted as the night before with nightmares of her father and brothers.

_

Amy was woken roughly the next morning by her uncle who shook her.

"Amelia! Time to get going!" he nearly shouted. "The boat will be leaving in just two hours!"

Amy waited for him to leave the room and flung her blankets off. She rose out of bed as quickly as her body would let her and got right to folding up her bedsheets. She didn't know if her uncle would have any extra, so she thought it best to be prepared. Soon, she was dressed and packed and carried her tightly bound bundle downstairs. Her uncle had helped himself to some breakfast, though she knew not what it was and was waiting to go by the door. Amy grabbed some bread and cheese for her breakfast and pulled on her winter clothes. She kept silent for the whole ordeal.

Amy also noticed her mother was not awake yet. Amy hated goodbyes, but not saying goodbye was even worse, so she went back upstairs to her brother's room to wake her.

"Mother, I'll be leaving soon." She said, sitting on the edge of Malachai's grey bed. Her mother soon roused and sat up to embrace Amy. Tears sat in both of their eyes as they held each other for a long moment.

"I will miss you, darling." her mother said and kissed her on the cheek. Her voice trembled, but she smiled weakly. "Please try to remember to write often. Never stop your stitching." They hugged again and Amy left to join her uncle at the door.

The air was frigid and the wind blew fiercely as they emerged from the dun house. Her uncle pulled her trunk and blanket behind him and she carried her case. They walked a while down the street and hired a carriage. Nearly two awkward hours later, they were at the port. Amy had never had any reason to go to the port before and the bustle startled her. Her uncle, however, seemed perfectly acquainted with the chaos of a crowd. He led her easily through the noisy throng of merchants, sailors and vacationing nobility to a towering ship Amy could come later to know as a 'clipper' ship. They boarded quickly, paying their fare at the port and dragged their luggage onto the ship. They soon found seats aboard the boat and settled in for their journey.

The trip would take most of the day and was mostly uneventful. Amy was never very fond of this uncle and they didn't speak much on the ship, not that Amy felt well enough to open her mouth. The constant motion of the ship was hard to get used to and she felt ill the whole way there. She was relieved when the ship finally made port several hours later. Her seasickness also left her quite hungry once her stomach settled. The second leg of their journey consisted of two carriages and a short walk through the dim streets of Paris. By now, Amy was too tired and hungry to really see the city. All she wanted now was to go to sleep. Her uncle seemed to be in the same state when they reached his house and almost as soon as they were inside, he was asleep.

Amy eventually found her new bedroom upstairs in the attic and spread her sheets over the worn mattress. She could tell just from the appearance of the trashed house and the state of her attic room that her life here in Paris was not going to be easy. She laid her head down on the flat pillow and fell asleep, once again interrupted by her nightmares.


	4. Chapter 3

Amy woke to the sound of an alarm clock from her uncle's room, early that Monday morning. He must have been a heavy sleeper for the alarm rang for quite a while before he stopped it. Amy got out of bed, back aching. The mattress was much less comfortable than it looked.

Amy dressed in nice clothes and went went downstairs to find something for breakfast. There was a bit of French bread in the dingy kitchen and some strong-tasting cheese to eat, but not much else. She made sure she left some for her uncle and resolved to get a few groceries with what little money she brought with her.

Soon after she finished her small meal, her uncle lumbered out of his room, rubbing his puffy face. He plopped in a threadbare living room chair and sighed heavily. Amy didn't know where to start looking for work in a city like Paris especially since the language was strange to her and he was her only help. She went out the the living room and stood in front of her groggy uncle.

"I was wondering if you had any suggestions on where to start looking for work here in Paris." She said politely.

Her uncle grunted and sat up in the chair, scratching his chin. "I don't pay much attention to jobs for young ladies, but that opera place up the road a way just re-opened. They might be hiring some help." he said. He flopped back into their chair as if the words were quite an effort.

Amy turned away and strode towards the door where her purse and coat hung. She put her purse on first and covered it with her coat to keep her small stash of francs her mother had saved back for a vacation someday safe. With her bonnet and scarf securely tied, Amy ventured out into the cold. Paris was a little bit warmer than England and the ice here was thinner, but the wind blew all the same, whipping what yellow hair Amy hadn't tied back around.

She walked down the street, looking for a sign or landmark that might tell her where this opera house was. After about a half an hour of walking, Amy stopped at a shop and stammered through her clumsy French to ask for directions. With much difficulty and a bit of miming, Amy found that she had passed the street she needed two blocks ago, so she turned around and took the right street this time. At the end of this street, there was a great building with golden statues and a tall colonnade with a short flight of stairs leading up to three bronze-faced doors. She was so taken with the sight of the building, she didn't notice she had stopped walking.

The wind picked up again, chilling Amy through her coat and she continued on her way. She opened the heavy doors with a slight nervous shudder and stepped into the grand foyer. The sight awed her, leaving her jaw slightly agape. The staircase seemed like something from a dream or fairy tail, crafted from dark wood, lined with marble and studded with great gold statues. The room itself was so big, Amy thought she might hyperventilate. The amount of light that flooded the room was also a stark change from her uncle's dim house and the cloudy winter outdoors. Amy ran her hand along the side of the staircase, the intricate marble carvings gleamed with many polishings. She had never seen anything so beautiful in a building in her short life of 23 years. Not even the State building back in England matched the beauty of Paris.

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle." said a voice from above her. "Vous êtes perdu?"

Amy jumped at the sound. Above her, a man dressed in a good suit and short top hat looked over the banister. "Quoi?" was all she could think to say.

"Vous êtes perdu?" he asked again, spacing out his words more. He started coming down that stairs towards her and she backed away from the banister to meet him.

"Je ne comprends pas." She said to him. She twisted the ribbon of her bonnet nervously. "Je suis Anglais."

"Oh, I see. I thought so, by your accent." said the man. "I was asking if you were lost. Anything I can help you with?" His French accent was rather light despite his fluency in the language.

"Oh, er, I-" Amy stammered. "I am l-looking for work and I heard you m-might be hiring." She managed.

"Yes, actually we are. Anything in particular you can do? Can you paint, sculpt, sew?"

Amy's face lit up when she heard the last item. "I can sew." she said quickly.

"Perfect. We have an opening for an assistant seamstress just now. If you'll come with me, you can get started right away. Lots of work to be done." He started walking away, towards a small wooden door to the right of the front doors. "I'm Edgar Leclair by the way. I'm the manager and owner of the Opera Populaire."

"It's a pleasure, Monsieur Leclair." said Amy.

Leclair led her through the door into a hall filled with costumes, masks, cloth, people, wafts of wine, powder and wooden scaffolding. Some people were dressed in what looked like stylized soldier uniforms, others wore sparkling fairy costumes and still others dressed as Arabs or Chinese people. She was led past the sparkling ballerinas and soldiers to a good-sized room filled with costumes, other seamstresses and actors having their costumes mended.

"Here is where you'll be working, Miss..." Gestured to ask her name.

"Amelia. Amelia Lucia." she squeaked. She hardly noticed he was speaking before, as she was looking about the room and costumes.

"Well, Miss Amelia. You can start work immediately. Hang your coat wherever you need, these ladies will tell you what to do." He motioned to the four or five other women who either carefully sewed tears in costumes of bent over gleaming coats. One woman put down the crimson coat she was sewing and came over to her.

"Madame Janvier, elle est en Anglais." Leclair told her.

She pursed her dark lips and seemed to be think very hard. "Mademoiselle Lucia, you can start by take off that bonnet and tie your hair back." she said in a thick French accent. She said the word 'bonnet' as if it rhymed with 'May'.

Leclair left the room and Amy did was she was told. She took off her bonnet and coat and used a spare ribbon from her purse to tie her wavy hair back. Her pallor, hair and dress were starkly different from the other women in the room whose hair was dark with olive-tinted skin and their pale dresses. Amy felt like a daisy among roses, fickle and garish.

"Over here." Madame Janvier said, walking to a far corner of the room. Draped over a small chair were blue English-looking military coats with pins in them. "You can finish sewing these, yes?" she asked.

Amy picked up a coat and looked at the seams. They were of a simple stitch she knew well, but were unfinished in awkward places like underarms and waistlines. "I think so." she said.

"Then you can start." Janvier turned and went back to sewing the crimson coat .

Amy sat down and took up one of the many blue coats. The threaded the needle that was stuck in the waist of one coat and began sewing. The job reminded her of home and she thought of her mother. She would probably be doing the same thing about now and Mrs.. Gill would be picking up her dress that day. As the thrust the needle in and pulled it out of the fabric, she tried to put herself back in her mother's shop, but the air here smelled of face powder, roses and sawdust, nothing like her home that smelled of baking bread, soup and clean cloth. The light in the opera house was also brighter than her home, which was good, but it made her homesick.

"Faster!" Janvier called back to her. "Sew fast or you will never finish it!"

Amy noticed herself slowing and pushed the needle in more quickly. She would have to become used to the professional atmosphere quickly or else lose her job, which she could never do.

The rest of the day dragged on, Amy finishing a coat every hour or so. Once in a while, Madame Janvier would call back an order to work faster or sew in a straight line and soon two other seamstresses join in her mocking, but called to her in French. Amy could tell by the tones of their voices that they were cursing her, but she couldn't understand them. Instead, she just tried to ignore their jeers and snickers.

By the end of the day, her fingers and eyes ached and she longed for the uncomfortable bed at home. She had also foolishly neglected to bring a lunch and went hungry while the other took a break to eat. Everything felt like lead on Amy as she left the opera house. The evening walk was long and she slipped a couple of times, once falling and tearing her skirt. When she reached her uncle's house, she heaved open the door and a wave of alcohol hit her. Her uncle had been drinking.

She ventured inside to see that there were two broken bottles and an overturned chair in the living room and her uncle was sitting on the floor, head slumped over as if he were dead. She shut the door and lit the lamp near the door. She crept over to her uncle who sat motionless as she approached.

Amy came almost close enough to touch him and he exploded into motion. He sprang to his feet, sending Amy sprawling on the floor. Yelling like a barbarian, he swung around the remnants of a broken wine bottle. He charged her as she tried to rise and she screamed and jumped out of the way just in time to miss the glass he threw. She ran upstairs, bumping into the dusty wall on her way up and slammed the door behind her. Luckily, her uncle wasn't coordinated enough then to brave the stairs, so he stomped to his room and audibly flopped onto his bed, sending a small quake through the house.

Amy slid down the door, breast heaving. She wondered to herself whether she would be able to live like this, but she knew she could not return to England. The strain on her mother would be too great with their house, store and feeding the two of them on the meager money they received from the store.

She took a deep breath and cautiously opened her door and tiptoed down the stairs. Quietly, she gathered some semblance of a dinner consisting of half a fresh baguette, some cheese her uncle seemed to have bought that day and a pitcher of water. She tried to eat slowly, but ended up gobbling her supper like a hog. She took off her ripped dress and put on her pajamas, making a mental note to mend her skirt whenever she found time. She knelt at the edge of her bed and folded her hands in prayer for the first time in perhaps months.

"God Almighty, you hold the Earth in your hands and you see the good and the bad of everyone everywhere. I know I do not deserve the life I am living, for there are others out there less fortunate than myself who would switch me places in a heartbeat. I thank you for this life and I hope I can stay strong through the situation you have placed me in. God, I ask for strength in this time of strife. Help me to do the best I can at the Opera Populaire that I might bring glory to your name, and I know that my torment, no matter how severe is your test and that you work in mysterious ways. I merely pray, God, that my suffering brings salvation to someone else. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Amen." Amy blessed herself and climbed into bed, suddenly thankful she was not sleeping on the floor. Her eyes drifted closed and she slept, and, for once, she slept without nightmares.


	5. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, Amy's work was about the same. The next day she went to work, however, she remembered to pack a lunch. Having lost any remaining respect for her uncle, she simply tied whatever food she could scrounge in a napkin and took it with her, disregarding her uncle's need of food.

At work, she had the same lighting, same tools, same people, same comments, but her task that day was starkly different. Instead of finishing bothersome sewing all day, she was to quick-mend costumes while they were on the actor's body. Amy was alright with the work, for early in the day there were mostly children from surrounding dance studios coming to have their jackets or dresses mended, but later when the children went home, the adult actors started filtering in. Amy ignored most of the people and focused instead on the clothing they were minding, but one actor she simply could not ignore.

Amy would come to learn later that this actor and dancer was called Leon Baudin and was the lead actor in their Christmas production of The Nutcracker. Leon came in once with a wide tear in his tight white hose and when he saw Amy, he came right over to the stool she had in front of her and thrust his hip to her.

"I have a tear." He said in a light French accent. "I need a little mend." he winked at her as she threaded her needle. "Don't poke, I am quite sensitive."

Amy tried to ignore Leon's comments, but he was very persistent in his flirtation. As she brought the edges of the torn seam together, he tossed comments like "How many other men have you sewn today?" and "Your hands are so graceful with that needle." at her. She rolled her eyes and sighed like he was a mere annoyance, but in reality, her soul bled with his stabbing words.

After their little session, Amy was determined to avoid Leon and she succeeded for the most part. He only came in once more that day and Amy purposefully slowed down in sewing Drosselmeyer's cape to avoid having to help him. The actor who played the part of Drosselmeyer wasn't much nicer than Leon, but he at least didn't know much English.

As Amy was able to have lunch that day, her hands and stomach didn't hurt as much when she went home. Another improvement on her day was that her uncle wasn't drunk but rather nursing his hangover in bed and also seemed to have bought groceries while he was out. Since it wasn't terribly late, Amy made a quick dinner of squash soup and bread.

That night, Amy went to bed rather satisfied with her day. She wished to herself as she drifted off to sleep that every day would be mildly pleasant like that one.

The next day, Amy got her wish.

_

Leon seemed to have a stroke of bad luck that Wednesday. He came in often with tears in his trousers and Amy started wondering if the hose was too tight on his muscular legs, or is he had a penknife out there and would tear such even holes in the seams. Every time he would rip his pants, Leon would be in the sewing room almost immediate, much to the other seamstress' dismay. The scolded him in French and Amy also put out a small criticism that if kept tearing his pants, she would need to sew brad new ones soon. This, however, seemed to have entertained Leon and he jabbed his perverted comments at her.

"Maybe you could sew new ones now." He said in response to her scold. "They are fitted so you will have to take good measurements." He winked at her and ran a hand through his dark way hair. He must have thought himself quite handsome.

And so Amy's 'mildly pleasant' day continued, but took a slight turn for the worse when the Harlequin Doll came in to have his shirt mended. This man was like Leon, but instead of using words, this man used his body to express himself.

The man came in, dressed in his checkered mechanical doll costume, brandishing a tear in his sleeve. Amy went right to work sewing the seam back up and when she turned his hand to better see the tear, he caressed her face and grinned wickedly. He licked his lips and Amy blushed and tried to thread her needle without trembling, but the more she tried to keep still, she worse she shook. She eventually got the needle threaded and went to work and the whole time the doll man played with her gold locks. When she was finally finished, the man touched her cheek again, sending a shiver down Amy's spine. He waved goodbye to her and clumsily mouthed the word 'goldilocks' as he left.

Amy sat back down on her hair and hugged her arms. Something about that man set her on edge worse than Leon and it made a cold pit of dread in her stomach. She shivered again and threaded another needle as a flower fairy pranced in with a few beads coming off.

_

That evening, her uncle was at home, sober and hangover-free. He greeted her curtly as she hung her coat and purse by the door. He was reading the newspaper and sat with his shirt undone, jacket and tie draped over the chair he sat in. He had finally cleaned up the broken bottle shards from the floor and he seemed like a completely different man than the drunk monster from Monday.

Amy made more squash soup, using up the half of the squash from yesterday. She was still uneasy around him and when he sat down to share the soup with her, she cringed a bit. Her uncle didn't notice, or if he did he pretended very well not to and slurped his soup in silence. It was also he who broke their silence.

"I guess you found work." He said, blowing on his spoonful of soup.

"Yes, I did." said Amy. She wasn't sure where the conversation was going yet, but she wasn't quite sure she liked it. "The Opera Populaire needed a seamstress, so I took a job there."

"Good." said her uncle. There was a long moment of awkward silence while they both took a drink from their glasses. "Do you know what your wages are?" he asked once he set down his cup.

Amy though hard. She hadn't really thought about it, but she had heard other seamstress assistants saying the word 'franc' which she knew to be their money and the words that made the number 300.

"I think I get about 300 francs a week." Amy said, trying to sound sure of herself. She took another spoon of soup.

Her uncle tapped his spoon on the table. "I believe that is about fourteen shillings in England." he said.

Amy remembered the money her mother brought in. Fourteen shillings was about half of her mother's income per week, which wasn't much. That added up to 56 shillings or almost 3 pounds. Her pay wasn't much, but she knew how to survive with little, as her mother had shown her during the summer months when not many people frequented a tailor.

The awkward conversation ended and the dishes were cleaned in silence. At last, Amy was free to go up to bed where she slept peacefully, dreaming not.

_

Amy woke the next morning with a vague feeling of dread. She didn't know what she was afraid of, only that her breakfast was suddenly unappealing and she was reluctant to leave the house. She went to work against her gut, though and though Leon was still flirtatious and the Harlequin man was still invasive of personal space, she didn't seem to have anything to be afraid of. She had a good lunch and her walk home was swift and wind-free and she began to relax as she approached her uncle's house. Upon entering the door, however, her fears were realized.

Her uncle was slumped on the floor as if Monday were repeating itself. Amy didn't even bother hanging her coat and immediately just let it fall on the floor and pushed up against the wall to creep around her uncle towards the stairs.

Her efforts were in vain, and just like Monday, he sprang from the floor and lunged for Amy, swinging a broken bottle over his head. Amy slipped on a puddle of wine and fell to the door, cutting her leg on a shard of glass. Her uncle caught her by her hair and slashed at her arm with his bottle, wrenching a scream from Amy's lips.

"Stupid girl!" he shouted at her, the fumes of his cheap wine pouring from his lungs. "You came here to embarrass me! You little wretch! Got a job as a serving girl and don't even bring home one pound!" He continued slashing her arm, back and legs and he held her by her hair. Amy screamed and kicked and pulled away, but it only enraged him more. She flailed about, blinded by pain and tears and finally landed a kick in her uncle groin, sending him toppling to the ground, yelling now in pain.

"You bitch! You stupid ugly bitch!" He yelled. He threw the remnants of his bottle and it shattered on the wall where Amy was just seconds before.

Amy scrambled to her feet and darted up to her room and sat up against the door, trembling violently. She cried for a few minutes, believing her uncle would burst through the door and finish the job at any moment, but he never braved the treacherously steep stairs. Slowly, Amy calmed down a degree, at least enough to see more clearly. Her cuts stung badly she she crawled over to her bed and knew that she would need to pick glass pieces out later. She grabbed her bed sheets and began tearing them off and folding them up. Tears still spilled over her cheeks as she tied up her blankets and packed her trunk. There was no way she was staying here another night.


	6. Chapter 5

Amy closed her trunk. She had changed into another dress and was leaving the two torn ones behind. She sat on her bare bed, trying to pull herself together. Eventually, after pinching her thigh a few times, she stopped crying and listened downstairs for any sign of her uncle. For a few minutes, she could hear him groaning and mumbling, but a while later, she heard him flop onto his bed, just like Monday.

Cautiously, with trembling hands, Amy opened the door and peered down the stairs. Her uncle was gone and she could see the glint of broken glass from the light in her room. Quietly, she went down the stairs, taking a trip to carry her case and blankets, then another for her trunk. She crept over to the door and slid on her coat, the once comforting wool scraping against her cuts, making her wince.

Knowing she couldn't make two trips, Amy quickly untied her bundle of blankets and re-tied them to her trunk. She opened the door and slid out into the midnight air. The light December breeze soothed the cuts on her legs, but everything else ached and burned. Carefully, Amy made her way to the Opera, not encountering another soul on the journey. She pushed open the right-most door and sneaked inside. Another door was slightly agape, and on peering inside, Amy saw the room was sparsely furnished and vacant. She invited herself in and found the room to be terribly dark.

Amy carefully pushed her trunk against a wall and untied her blankets. She used her coat as a thin mattress and made some sort of bed roll. Then she groped about in her case until she found her box of matches and emergency candle. She lit the candle and quietly examined her wounds. The bleeding had stopped, but there were three green shards of glass embedded in two of her cuts. She dreaded what she had to do, but found her scarf and put a folded edge in her mouth. Then, carefully setting the candle on the floor, took hold of a piece of glass in her arm and jerked outward.

Amy screamed quietly into her scarf and bit down hard on it. Her eyes watered and she had to wait a couple of minutes before she went back for the second shard. When all three were out, she found some spare cloth in her case she meant for embroidery and tore it into strips. She wrapped her cuts with the strips, wincing especially at the deepest cut in her arm, the cut that had the most shards in it. Then, whimpering, Amy laid down on her makeshift bed and tried to sleep. Nightmares plagued her once more, but now she dreamed of a monster that bathed in wine and had glass for claws. The beast chased her around the Opera House until it finally caught her and sliced her to ribbons.

The next morning, Amy's cuts stung dully, her head throbbed and her body ached from sleeping on the floor. She could hear the bustle of the opera and quickly combed her hair and tied it back. Luckily, she was just on time and avoided being seen by Leclair or any other members of the opera.

Amy tried to hide her cuts from the other seamstresses and her two strange 'mend-friends' she called them, but failed. She could hear the women whispering when they thought she wasn't listening, though she couldn't understand what they said. Leon noticed her bandaged arm and asked if her boyfriend hurt her. She didn't answer and Leon offered to take care of her and that he would never hurt her. Amy ignored his comments and sewed more quickly. The Harlequin man actually kissed her arm and touched a cut that was uncovered on her back, but she slapped his hand away, making him a bit dejected, but she didn't care. Her head throbbed to a steady beat and she was very hungry.

At lunch, Amy found her way to a small dining room where the boarding ballet students ate and asked their instructor if she could eat with them. The instructor allowed her to eat, but kept a scornful eye on her. With a full stomach, Amy was able to continue her day in at least partial comfort, for her cuts still sang whenever she had to lean over or stretch at an odd angle.

Her work day finally ended and she had dinner with the ballet students as well, promising that she would be able to feed herself soon. Disdainfully, she went to the abandoned mirror-room, which she dubbed because she found a full-length, mirror with a chipped brass frame at the back. Inside, lying on her coat-bed, Amy found a folded piece of paper with a short note written on it. It said:

_You, who are a foreigner in this land, are not welcome in this room. You have stolen away from your home, little girl, and your father will not be pleased. Go away and never return here._

The note was signed with the initials 'O.G.' She knew no one in the opera house with those initials and certainly no 'O.G.' knew she was staying there. Amy simply discarded the note, thinking it a prank from Leon or a seamstress girl. She laid down to sleep with a dull headache and humming cuts, but otherwise reasonably comfortable.

The next day was much like the last. Leon commented on her healing cuts which she had removed the bandages from and the Harlequin man ran his fingers over the red lines as she mended a very hard-to-reach hole in the side of his trousers, under his heavy shirt. She did, however, have the honor of sewing a clasp back onto the Sugar Plum Fairy's dress. She loved how the beads and false jewels glinted in the light, just like frost on a winter pond.

At lunchtime, Amy quickly pulled on her coat and dashed for the nearest market for some bread and cheese, for she did not want to embarrass herself with the students again. She ate in the mirror room where she found another note, this one more threatening than the last. This note called her an 'Evil English Gypsy' and threatened her with 'serious harm'. Again, Amy ignored the note. She finished work for the day and found yet another, equally rude note lying in the room, and after she had supped on the leftovers of her lunch, she dug through her case to find her stationary and wrote a note back.

_Dear Mr. O.G._  
><em> I don't know who you are or how you know me, but I must say your notes are quite a nuisance and I would like it very much if you would stop writing such terrible things. I do not find you very scary if that's what you're trying for and I'm not going to leave anytime soon.<em>  
><em> Sincerely, Amelia.<em>

Amy left the note sitting by the top of her bed roll, where she had received the others and laid down to sleep. In the morning, she found a more violent note waiting for her. This note cursed her as a 'Ghastly English serving-wench' and spoke of her cuts and how she would receive much worse than her current wounds if she stayed after today. Amy was lightly startled by the note, but again ignored it and went about her day.

As she mended costumes, she heard chatter, even in English, that tomorrow was the performance. The tension and excitement in the air was nearly palatable and even the Harlequin man chattered to her in French. Amy merely nodded her head as he tried to express his anticipation to her. Leon, on the other hand, was not so tense. He was the opposite of tense, as if the anticipation of performance was opium to him.

"Tomorrow we will put on the show." he said calmly. Amy was sewing a button back onto his crimson coat at the time, so she didn't look up. "You know what that means? It means you won't by mending my tears. Does that not make you sad?" he ran a hand through his hair flirtatiously and smiled at her when she finally looked up. "I will miss you. Maybe you should come visit me at my home tonight and make up for tomorrow."

"I'd rather not." Amy offered to shut him up. She was growing weary of his flirting and wished tomorrow would come more quickly.

As the day drew to a close, Amy's hands ached from all of the tears she had to mend in frantic preparation for the show. All of the bright threads and gleaming beads had burned their images into her eyes and she hung her head as she walked down the dark hall. She and the other seamstresses had to stay longer to finish the minor details on costumes they had neglected.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head again for a moment, rubbing her forehead. Her day replayed itself in hear head and she tried her best to clear her mind. As she approached the mirror room, she heard quick steps behind her and spun around to see Leon bearing down on her.

Leon pushed Amy up against the door, pressing his body up against hers. Alcohol seemed to drip from his lips as he spoke. "Hey, sweetheart. Come home with me. I want you to have dinner at my place."

"No, thank you Leon." Amy said, breath being squeezed out of her by Leon's heavy body.

He pushed his thigh beside hers and tried to kiss her, but with a great burst of panicked strength, she pushed him off and went running down the hall. Leon ran behind her, shouting threats, but Amy ducked into a small crevice between two scaffoldings and hid until she couldn't hear him anymore.

Once Amy's heart slowed down, she ventured out of her hole and cautiously made her way for her room again. No sooner than she exited her hole, though, someone came up behind her and knocked her to the floor. The person quickly tied her hands and a cloth in her mouth just as she started screaming. The man kicked her over and she could see the skinny outline of the Harlequin man in the dark. Amy screamed again, but the cloth muffled her voice to a dull moan. He descended and Amy kicked and flailed, but he had a knife and cut her legs, stunning her to stillness. He cut open her dress and tore her underwear. She heard a soft snap as he opened a slit in his pants and slammed into her, sending a jolt of pain through her body. Her eyes watered and every one of the cuts screamed.

Amy closed her eyes and tried to scream again, but he kept thrusting. She tried to kick again, but he cut her and let out and low, growling laugh. Then, as suddenly as the attack started, it stopped. Amy was numb for a moment, but the world soon caught up to her and she let loose a wail followed by a shower of tears. Nearby, footsteps approached and someone unbound Amy's hands and mouth, letting the full blast of her wails loose. She couldn't find the strength to stand, as if her legs had been detached from her body. Instead, she curled up in a ball and cried steadily.

The rescuer turned to leave, but hearing that she had not moved, turned back. Her cuts bled steadily, leaving small trickles of red on her legs and belly. The rescuer stepped closer, suddenly overcome by pity. He had hated her, but he never expected this.

He knelt beside her, awed at the spectacle of such sorrow and was confused. He had threatened and cursed her and now he saved and pitied her. Now she laid here in front of him, broken. He reached out a hand and touched her, to offer some sort of consolation.

As soon as his hand met her shoulder, Amy lunged into his lap, tears falling like summer rain. His mind spun as she found her way to his chest. Was he to betray the woman he sought after and grieved over to the first weeping beauty he laid eyes on? Her sorrows were genuine and her burdens heavy, but did this deserve his care and compassion? What would Christine have wanted? What would she say if she could see him now?

Slowly, his arms found their way around her trembling form. He embraced her awkwardly and she pressed her tear-stained face into his vest. As she wept, something stirred in him, lost and buried. A minuscule scrap of tenderness leaked through the stone of his heart. It stung and seared, but also warmed and softened. He held Amy closer to him, stroking her hair and humming softly. Christine may have run, hid and cried softly in Amy's place, but Amy was not Christine. Christine was gone and he had another chance for compassion and love, the weeping girl in his arms.

He sang softly and Amy slipped gently into sleep. He rose with her in his arms and started for the dormitories. After opening the door quietly, he laid Amy down in the closest empty bed, Christine's old place. A sharp pain in his heart shouted at him, told him he was giving up, letting Amy take Christine's place, but he shooed the thoughts away and wrote a note instructing that Amy should be given a place to stay and have her wounds tended to.

Mind still swirling, he silently glided out of the room and into one of his many secret passageways. Christine's voice, scent, dress and face still permeated his memory, but they began to mingle with Amy, tearing a rift in his soul. He held on to Christine, but clung also to Amy and he must decide between the two, lest he be torn apart.

He remembered the last scene of their play as he entered his sanctuary and decided. Christine had left with wretched Raoul and he was never going to see her again, her memory turned to ash with the Opera Populaire. Now it was time to rise from the ashes, try to stop mourning what could never be rebuilt. He looked past his little pool of soot and saw Amy, a light in the darkness of his solitude.

A glass goblet shattered on the floor. The rift grew wider and he felt dizzy as his eyes were opened. Amy was his last chance to right his wrongs, to leave his past, and he could not lose her. But to keep Amy, Christine had to go.

He ripped Christine from his heart like a squirming parasite. He threw what was left of his drawings and music into a pile near the lake. The change was violent and painful and every last scrap of his past had to be eradicated. He threw out his old suit, his models, Christine's dress, everything that brought back painful memories. He fell to his knees as he set the pile alight, tears spilling down his face. His mask was the only piece of his past that remained, his only comfort in the storm.

He groped his way to his organ, blinded by his tears, and grabbed a pen and paper. He brought them down to the floor and scrawled two words with trembling hands.

_For Amy_


	7. Chapter 6

Amy woke the next day lying in a strange bed. She couldn't remember how she got there, but dared not try to remember. Several ballerinas and chorus members were flitting about the room, chattering with one another. She tried to rise, but a cut on her belly forced her back to bed. As her mind cleared, she remembered the events of the previous night.  
>Amy curled back up and held herself tightly as the memories flooded back. She would <em>not<em> cry in front of the others and bit her lip to make sure. Just when she buried her head in her knees, Monsieur Leclair entered accompanied a man dressed in black with a stethoscope around his neck.  
>Amy lifted her head and looked confusedly at the pair. She didn't remember sending for the doctor, neither did she have the money to pay him once he was through.<br>"Show me your wounds, then." Said the plump doctor as he set down his case.  
>Amy sat on the edge of the bed and sat up straight revealing the cuts on her belly and pulled back her dress a bit to show the worst ones on her legs.<br>"Who sent for you? I certainly can't-"  
>"Don't worry, all is taken care of. Whoever sent for the doctor left a pretty sum for your care." Leclair interrupted. He didn't meet Amy's gaze, but looked instead at the cuts carved through her skin. "Who did this to you?" he asked after a moment of pondering.<br>Amy stayed silent and shook her head slightly. Her eyes dropped from Leclair's face to the doctor's hands as they examined her wounds.  
>"Who did this?" Leclair asked again, this time coming close and resting a hand on her shoulder.<br>Tears trickled down Amy's cheeks and she shook her head again. "I can't…" she whimpered. "They might…" Her voice trailed off, replaced by a soft sob.  
>Leclair sighed and crossed his arms awkwardly while the doctor opened his case and took out a roll of bandages. He bound most of Amy's wounds after smearing a clear salve on them and the ones he couldn't wrap he put extra cream on. Then the doctor put a hand to Amy's forehead and felt behind her ears.<br>"It seems your patron is either quite astute or quite lucky, mademoiselle. It seems you have a fever." He reached into his bag and produced a small brown bottle and spoon. He uncapped the bottle and poured a brown liquid into the spoon and carefully handed it to Amy. "Take that, it will help with the fever." he said.  
>Amy did as he asked, grimacing at the terrible taste of the medicine. The only thing on her mind was finding out the mysterious patron and thanking whoever it was.<br>Soon, the doctor and Leclair were gone, Leclair leaving the opportunity to tell about her attacker whenever she felt ready. When they were out of sight, Amy slid off of the bed and down the hall to the abandoned room. She pulled the door open and found that her belongings were missing, replaced by a folded piece of paper. Amy picked up the note and saw the same initials as the last few and debated throwing it away immediately, but for some reason she unfolded the paper and read its contents.

_Dear Amelia,_

_ I write primarily to apologize for my indecorous behavior and notes over the past few days. I do sincerely regret every one of them and wish to express my deepest sympathies for the grief I must have caused you.  
>As well as apologies I offer my condolences and comfort for your recent tragedies and hope that the following with somehow ease the pain of said events.<br>I have ordered that your wounds and fever be attended to daily for the next week and have paid in full the doctor's charges plus any pain medication you may require. I also have made it so you will now be staying in the dormitories here in the opera rather than this little room. You will allowed to eat here whenever you like and baths are offered for a small fee.  
>As you have noticed, your luggage is missing. I have moved it near the bed you found yourself in this morning. Inside you will find a few new articles of clothing to replace your soiled ones as well as stationary and some money for the baths.<br>Finally, I offer my services to show my sincerity. I am willing to give voice lessons, free of charge so that you might have a part in this theatre's operas. Simply write back on the back side of this paper whether or not you accept_

_ Once again, sincerest apologies and deepest sympathy,_

_ O.G._

Amy folded the note and tried to collect her thoughts. Could this possibly be the same O.G. who had been so rude before? Amy turned the note over and picked up the pen that lay nearby and wrote one word: Yes. She placed the paper back where she found it and left the room.  
>Back in the dormitories she found her luggage behind the bed, right where the note said it would be. She opened her trunk and inside lay three dresses of the most elegant design. She picked one up and unfolded it in silent amazement. The dress was a light green material, professionally ruffled with lace cuffs and collar. The boddess was covered in the same lace and the skirt was layered with white underneath and a dark green wrap overtop. She had never owned as dress this nice.<br>Under light blue and rosy pink dresses, there was a good sized purse. To her added astonishment, she found at least five hundred francs inside, enough to pay for baths for several months. Amy was now doubly glad she had accepted the voice lessons, she must have a chance to thank her patron somehow.  
>Amy put away the gifts except for the green dress and a few francs and closed her trunk. She made her new bed and made her way from the dormitories to find out where the baths were. After a few moment's inquiry, Amy found that the baths were near the kitchen and promptly paid for one to be drawn for her soon.<br>After not too long, Amy was sitting a small but rather comfortable washbasin, trying her best to scrub the filth and memories from the past few days away. The water was as hot as she could bear and relaxed her sore muscles. For nearly an hour she sat in the basin, constantly pouring bubbly water over herself. It was probably the best she had felt in weeks.  
>Once she was done, Amy put on the green dress and admired herself in the single mirror the bathroom offered. When she saw herself in the green gown, she at first didn't recognize herself. As she spun and admired herself, she wondered how her mysterious patron knew her best colors, styles or even size.<br>While she was looking at herself, Amy remembered that Friday was payday at the Opera. She collected her torn dress and threw it in a nearby wastebasket and headed downstairs where the last few to receive their pay were standing. She got in line and when it was her turn, received her pay of three hundred francs. They were counted in twenty-franc coins, so she had to quite careful to not drop any as she took them to her trunk. When she knelt to put her pay in her trunk, she found a note much like he last few laying on top of it.  
>Carefully, Amy set down her pay and picked up the note. Inside were instructions on where she was to meet 'O.G.' to have her voice lessons and that the first one was to start at 6:00 in the room she first stayed in. Every following lesson would be the same place and time. Amy walked outside the room and read the clock downstairs; 1:30. That meant she had plenty of time to prepare for their first meeting, but what should she prepare for? Amy plopped onto her bed and thought of what she might say to her new teacher, but every time she tried to form the words, images of what he might look like pushed their way into her mind. Maybe he was tall and blonde and wore a white suit, like an angel. Or maybe he was short and ugly with nearly no hair and warts covering his face, perhaps that is why she'd never met him. She thought about this, how the lesson would go and what his personality might be like as she whittled away the hours. Once, while she was writing a letter to her mother, she caught herself daydreaming of falling madly in love with this man, but scolded herself for such thoughts. Such a kind, generous man should not be thought of in such ways.<br>In her anticipation, the hours passed excruciatingly slowly. 2:30, 2:35, 2:45, 3:00. Amy tried not to look at the clock too often, but her anxiety got the best of her most of the time. 3:30, 4:00, 4:15, 4:20. The clock's tick seemed to mock her as the minute hand crept lazily around its face. Then at last, it was nearly 6:00 and Amy used one of the two vanities in the dormitory to pull back her hair.  
>She stood by the doors, heart racing when the clock tolled six. She pushed the handle down and entered to find that the room had been lightly lighted and furnished with a few candelabras and two cushioned stools. These furnishings sat close to the mirror in the back of the room and there seemed to be a slight gap to one side of the mirror. Amy took a seat and the gap seemed to expand. Soon, the mirror had fully slid away revealing a figure shrouded in black. The figure stepped forward and Amy rose is fear and awe. Was this the gallant knight she fantasized about or a demonic apparition?<br>"I'm glad you accepted." the figure said. He had a deep voice and for a moment, Amy was sure he was a demon. "Shall we begin?" He put out a black-gloved hand and motioned for Amy to be seated and took a seat himself. "Do you sing much?"  
>It took a moment for Amy to register the question. "U-uh, sometimes at home, but I haven't sung in a while." She stammered.<br>The figure stirred a bit, as if in thought. "What songs do you know?" he asked after a moment.  
>"A few English songs. Folk songs, really, nothing fancy."<br>"English folk songs..." the man echoed quietly. He stirred again and was silent for a longer moment. "Do you know Scarborough Fair?" he asked.  
>"Yes, I do." Amy said with sudden confidence. "I used to sing it while sewing at home."<br>"Will you sing it for me now? I need to hear your voice so I know where to go from there."  
>"Alright." said Amy. She took a moment to remember the words, then took a breath and started.<br>"_Are you going to Scarborough Fair?  
>Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme<br>Remember me to one who live there,  
>He once was a true love of mine.<em>"  
>"Stop, stop." The man said.<br>Amy immediately hushed and was glad the light was dim, for she was certain she was blushing.  
>"Try opening your mouth more when you sing. Don't keep the words on your tongue or in your throat. Let the words roll off of your tongue and think about them more than the notes. Start again."<br>Amy sang the verse again, focusing on saying the words rather than singing. She was interrupted at the same place, but with applause this time.  
>"See? The words are what the audience wants to hear! Very good. Again."<br>Something fluttered inside Amy at the complement and she couldn't help smiling while she sang again. The rest of the lesson continued much like this, she would sing and her teacher would criticize and give her advice. When the lesson was over, it was about 7:30, but Amy didn't mind much. She decided not to watch the ballet and instead went to the empty dormitories and laid down, reflecting on her lesson. She still couldn't keep her mind off of how beautiful the man's voice was when he sung, even though the song was merely a folk song. She fell asleep in her dress that night and for the first time in weeks, she dreamed not of monsters, but of a black-cloaked angel who led her to heaven to sing in his choir.


	8. Chapter 7

Amy woke early the next morning, before most of the other staff. She pulled herself out of bed and changed into the rosy pink dress her patron gave her. Quietly, she pulled her hair back at the vanity nearest her and ventured out of the dormitory. Very few others were about. She heard a maid here and there cleaning up the leftovers of last night and heard Leclair faintly from the foyer speaking with another man.  
>Out of some unspoken curiosity, Amy's feet took her down the hall towards the mirror room. The lights were not lit fully yet, so cast-aside costumes, bottles and various other indistinguishable items blended together on the floor like river stones. The current seemed to bring her down the masses towards the door of the mirror room and she found her hand on the handle before she even knew what she was doing. Then suddenly, Amy took and active role in this curiosity and pushed the door open. The stools and candles were still there, right where she had left them, but with the candles burnt out, she couldn't see what it was she tripped over.<br>She squinted through the shadows, climbing back to her feet. A silhouette of a strange mass stuck out of the dark of the floor and she hesitantly reach a foot over to tap whatever it was. Flipping a cloth over, she simply found a broom, probably left by some drunken actor during last night's revelries. Curiosity sated, Amy stepped out of the room, kicking the broom to the side so she wouldn't trip over it again. The broom slid to the side, but stopped short of the wall with a soft thud. Amy knew there was not anything on this side of the room that would go 'thud' and cautiously stepped over to the spot. She picked up the broom and poked at whatever the soft thing was. Finding it motionless, Amy calmed down and reached out to grab part of what it was. Her hand found cloth wrapped around a firm mass. Thinking it was merely a prank, she pulled the mass out of the shadows, revealing none other than her attacker two nights ago, the 'Harlequin' man.  
>Amy jumped back, holding her screams in with her hands. Tears flooded her eyes as the still-fresh memories resurfaced. Her bones ached and every cut resonated with the flashback. She stared at his deathly grimace, lifeless eyes fixed on his attacker. Harlequin was wicked, but she never wished him death.<br>Blind with tears and struggling to hold back sobs, Amy climbed to her feet. She couldn't go back to dormitories for fear of waking the others, but she couldn't stay in this room either. Desperate for solitude, Amy ran for the Opera doors. She plunged into the cold of the winter morning and put one foot in front of the other. The pounding of her heart, feet and the unsteady tempo of her breath was all that filled her mind as she ran. She didn't know who saw her, but right now she didn't really care. As she ran, she slipped on a patch of ice and fell. She didn't truly register that she was no longer upright until she saw the red on her hands.  
>Blood. The sight of it startled Amy out of her panic and she looked around her. Carefully rising, she found that she stood before a large chapel. Between the two great doors, a crucifix was carved, Jesus hanging by his hands, clothed in nothing but a cloth about his hips. Mary and Joseph's statues stood nearby, watching Amy peacefully. Amy looked down at her bloodied hands and then back up at Jesus. Her suffering could not compare to his, but he understood her pain. Amy lowered her eyes, mind clearing. She must go back to the Opera. Running was the act of a coward and though there was nothing really to be faced, she must return to at least do her job.<br>Quickly, Amy sent up a prayer for strength and crossed herself. Her turned back the way she came and started back for the Opera house. She didn't recognize anything, but knew she only ran in a straight line. Now her mind was clear, she felt the scratches in her hands more clearly now and examined her dress for tears. Luckily there was only a small tear near her knee, easily hid and more easily mended. The sun was fully dawned now and the wind kicked up, sending a chill down Amy's spine. She picked up the pace as she neared the Opera.

That day, her work was rather simple. They were now preparing for another of the Opera's past performances, the last recorded performance before the Opera burned, Il Muto. Amy and the other seamstresses received the patterns for set costumes along with various measurements. Amy having proved herself adequate during the last set of costumes as assigned a costume all to herself, a costume that would belong to a maid in the opera. In broken English, she learned that having a costume to herself meant she was responsible for every aspect including miscellaneous measurements, mending and construction of the costume. Amy was relieved to find out she would be working with a woman instead of two men like last time.  
>Amy's work day mainly consisted of measuring the woman she came to know as Joette Merle or 'Jo' for short. Joette spoke a little more English than most of the seamstresses and they had a few interesting conversations about their jobs and likes throughout their time together. After Amy had measured every seam and took notes about the costume and Jo's form, she drew out and cut the fabric for the costume. She worked quickly, but carefully, keeping one eye on the clock most of the day. By about five minutes before six, she had cut most of the fabric needed for the costume and excused herself for the evening, as she had made more progress than most other seamstresses.<br>The mirror room was just as how Amy left it earlier, but Harlequin's body was removed. The scene sent Amy's heart racing, but the sound of the mirror sliding away calmed her back down.  
>"I'm glad you're here." said the man. "Please, take a seat."<br>Amy went over and did as he said. They were both silent for an awkward moment.  
>"The director will be taking auditions for the leading parts soon." the man said, breaking the silence. "Next week they will start and I want you to be there. We have much to do, so let's not hesitate."<br>He didn't speak much after that except if it was about her singing. She hadn't expected to audition so soon, but thinking back to her improvements in the last sessions, she wasn't as nervous as she would have been. Still, a question nagged at her mind. A simple question, not very invasive at all, so Amy asked it.  
>"Sir, would you mind telling me what 'O.G.' is?" she asked between critiques. "They way you sign your notes, what does it stand for?"<br>The man was silent for a long time and Amy wondered if she had asked the wrong question. Then, after thinking it over, he answered.  
>"It stands for Opera Ghost." he said simply. He raised his hands to cue Amy in, but she interrupted again.<br>"I'm sorry, but I can't help but notice that you seem quite human and not at all ghostly. Why do you use such a name?"  
>"It's a long story, and I'm afraid I haven't the time to tell it." He sounded slightly agitated and raised his hands again, but put them back down. "And please, call me Erik."<br>"Alright, Erik." Amy replied. He raised his hands again and cued Amy into the tryout solo again, practicing breathing techniques.

The lesson lasted for nearly two and a quarter hours and Amy left the room holding her throat. In the dormitories, she slipped out of her dress and off to sleep, thinking about this Erik and the tryouts next week.


	9. Chapter 8

Amy's hand rested on Monsieur Leclair's door. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Her mind traced back over her voice lessons the past week and she felt more confident. She could still hear Erik's angelic voice when he sang the night before and felt his hand on her shoulder when he assured her of her talent. Amy lofted her hand and rapped on the door, more confident than when she got there. Leclair called from inside that she should come in.

Amy went in and Leclair seemed a little surprised to see her. "Mademoiselle." he said, shifting around a few papers. "What is it you need?"  
>Amy took a deep breath and stood in front of his desk. "I would like to audition." Amy said, almost too slow. She gripped the sides of her skirt in anticipation.<p>

"Audition? I didn't see you as the singing type. When did you learn?" Leclair asked.

"Recently, but my teacher is very skilled." Amy said.

"Who is this teacher, may I ask?" Leclair stood from his chair and came to the side of the desk.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you." Amy said, remembering Erik's instructions. "He would rather you didn't know."

"Ah, well, I suppose I can't refuse. Auditions are starting here soon, so if you will go to the stage, I will be out shortly to watch."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir." Amy said, quickly curtsying, and went from the room.  
>Once outside, she took a deep breath and smiled, but it was only half over. She could hear the tune of the maestro warming up and hurried to the stage. She stepped out from behind a curtain and onto the stage where the two other candidates for the countess stood warming up. They turned to look at her, one sneering distgustedly. Amy awkwardly took her place beside them and warmed her voice.<p>

"Now, first I would to- oh, who is this?" the maestro said, not having seen her arrive.

"My name is Amelia Lucia, Monsieur." she replied with a small curtsy. "I have spoken with Monsieur Leclair and I have his permission to audition."

"Yes, I see. Now, we shall continue as planned." the maestro turned to the first lady in the row, the one Amy recognised as the Sugar Plum Fairy from before. Now, though, her beauty was much more earthly since she was clean of her ethereal makeup, with low cheekbones and large eyes. When she opened her mouth to sing . The audition piece, 'Poor Old Fool', Amy wasn't sure how she would outdo her. But then she reached the sung laugh and her voice turn to something mixed between a lady, a goat and a bird. Then, the next woman who had sneered sang the piece, clearly peeping out the laugh notes, but having much vibrado in her voice. Then, it was finally Amy's turn. She stepped forward and when the piano had finished the intro, she took a deep breath.

_Oh, the poor old fool he makes me laugh ha-a-a-a-a..._

Amy sang how Erik had taught her; she used her belly, kept her eyebrows up and palette lifted. When she had finished, the maestro complimented her voice, as he did the other two and they were excused from the stage to make room for the men trying out for the Count. Amy took a seat near the stage and watched the others try out while she waited. The Count was chosen on the spot, as only one of the two men could actually sing well and after very short deliberation, two 'fops' were chosen. The maestro announced to those still waiting that he needed time to think and to meet him for his decision after lunch.

They all left, some for an office, some for home, but man, including Amy, for the cafeteria. Amy ate, but mostly picked at her bread and cheese and her soup was left nearly untouched when people started leaving. Amy followed suit and went back to the theatre where the maestro was waiting for those who aditioned to arrive. The sneering woman was the last to arrive and when she sat down, the maestro announced, first, the last fop and two ladies, then proclaimed that Leon would play the pageboy. When he mentioned Leon, Amy suddenly hoped she wouldn't be the countess, but also secretly hoped she would, for Erik's sake. The maestro, almost seeming to feel the anticipation in the air, announced dramtically that he had reached his descision on the countess. The Sugar Plum Fairy leaned forward in her seat, the grimacing lady crossed her fingers and Amy gripped her skirt.

"The role of the Countess shall be played by..."

Amy felt like she was going to blow up.

"Amelia Lucia."

Amy felt her stomach jump. She got the role? The lead role? She could hardly believe herself. When she rose to collect her script, Amy felt like she was floating on a cloud. A smile grew across her face when she saw 'Countess' printed on the corner of her script. When she was out of sight, Amy skipped once and giggled to herself.

Just as planned, Amy went directly to the mirror-room to tell Erik of her success. When she got there, the mirror was closed, but slid open as she set down her script.

"What happened?" Erik asked, stepping out from the mirror. "How did it go?"

"I got the role!" Amy said joyfully. "I'm the countess!" She moved to hug him , but remembered with a little disappointment that they weren't on hugging terms.

"Good. Very good. Congratulations." Erik said.

His voice sounded happy, but without seeing his face, Amy couldn't be sure. The smile melted off of Amy's face and Erik asked what was wrong.

"It's just..." she started. She didn't know how to put it. 'You're hood is making me uncomfortable.' or 'Can I see your face for once?' Neither sounded polite or right for the moment.

"It's what?" Erik asked, stepping toward her.

"It's just that I've never really seen you before." Amy said. "You always wear this dark cloak and I've never seen your face before, or any of you at all." She pulled at her dress as she waited for his reply, hoping she hadn't stepped over some boundary.

Erik didn't say anything, but lifted his hands to his hood where he untied the strings that held it together. In one fluid motion, Erik cast off the cloak, revealing his true form. He wore a pitch black suit of a modern fashion with a patterned grey waistcoat showing through. A pale green scarf was looped around his neck, keeping the collar of his white shirt up. Amy gasped lightly when she saw his face. The right half was covered in a snowy white mask and her eyes were drawn to it so she could not see anything else.

Erik reached for the cloak again, a look of embarrassment on the unmasked side of his face.

"No, no. Don't put it back on again." Amy said, resting a hand on his outstretched arm. "It's just... you're so beautiful. I wasn't expecting it."

Erik straightened back up and looked into Amy's eyes. She shied away from his powerful gaze, but relaxed when the edges of his mouth pulled up into a small smile.

"Then beauty must find like company." he said in a soft, kind voice she'd never heard him use before.

Amy stood transfixed for a moment, then shook herself out of her daze. The smile was gone, replaced by the same, neutral expression he had worn before.

"Am I still to return for lessons?" Amy asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, we still have much progress to make before you are ready for the stage." he said. Erik reached for the cloak again, turning to leave.

"Could you leave the cloak off?" Amy asked timidly. Erik turned to look at her and Amy thought she saw confusion on his face. "I like you better this way. You seem more human when I can see you."

Erik simply nodded and turned back. He slid open the mirror and vanished into the darkness behind, leaving Amy alone in the room.

Amy stood there for a moment, curiosity piqued. Then she took up her script, blew out the candles and left the room.


	10. Chapter 9

The day of the opera was nigh and Amy was nerve wracked. The final rehearsal flew by smoothly, but Amy could barely sit down afterwards. She refused lunch when the time came and paced the halls after rehearsal, twisting her costume until it tore. When she went to mend it, her hands shook so furiously she asked a fellow seamstress to sew it for her. Her eyes, all the while, flew to the clock, counting the minutes until she had her lesson with Erik.

Amy's footsteps slowed as the thought of her teacher came to mind. She had been pacing again, carefully avoiding Leon and most of the other cast. She put down the piece of skirt she was worrying and took a deep breath. Over the past few weeks, she and Erik had grown much closer, they were no longer mysterious teacher and nervous student, but a mentor and his protege. It seemed that Erik was not just more human without his cloak, but was more present, giving the room a warmer glow. Amy sighed as she thought of him, but quickly averted her mind's eye when she felt her heart racing. He was still her teacher, nothing more.

The clock struck six and Amy jumped. She pulled herself from her thoughts and walked quickly to the mirror-room, her tremors returning. She entered the room just as Erik was closing the mirror and Amy grabbed her dress and took deep breaths to hide her anxiety. She paced over to the pool of candle light and sat lightly on one of the stools, holding her dress in her fists all the while. Erik sat across from her and hesitated.

"Tomorrow you become a star." he said, a bright tone to his voice.

Amy nodded and let out the breath she had been holding, shaking slightly.

"Are you ready?"

Amy nodded again, more of a twitch really, and lowered her face. She did not want to seem nervous in front of her teacher.

Erik stood and unlaced Amy's hands from her dress. He made her stand and put his arms around her. Amy felt her face flood with red and hoped Erik couldn't feel the warmth. She put her arms around him and tears began sliding from her eyes.

Amy's breath faltered and Erik pulled away. She wiped at her tears, trying to compose herself.

"You sing beautifully, here and on stage. I've heard. Your voice is strong and I know you are, too." Erik put his hands on her arms, letting a smile crawl across his lips. Tears continued to fall down Amy's cheeks and Erik was confused. What could he say? He knew she was nervous, as most actresses are before their debut.

Erik lowered his hands and thought for a moment. Maybe something to calm her nerves would help. "Could I get you some tea or wine? To calm your nerves." He asked warily.

Amy shook her head. "I usually stitch something when I want to relax, but can't even hold a needle." she said with shaky breath.

"Well, you do need to sleep well tonight." said Erik, quickly changing the subject. "You can't stay in the dormitories with all of those girls, you'd never sleep a wink." Erik heard a laugh through Amy's breaths, she was relaxing a bit. "Why don't you stay in my room tonight. It will be much more quiet there."

Amy looked up, wiping at another tear. She seemed confused for a moment as she considered. "Alright." she said, calming down. "I admit, those girls can be quite talkative." She laughed a bit and smiled.

Erik smiled as well and opened the mirror. He stepped through, leading Amy by the hand. "It's quite dark up ahead, so keep hold of my hand." He led Amy down to the lake where the boat waited. He hadn't paid it much mind since Christine left and hoped it would still serve its purpose as he led Amy into it. When Amy was situated in the bow, Erik picked up the pole and pushed the boat across the lake. He watched as Amy stared at the wall carvings, just as Christine had. When they approached the gate, Erik pulled a lever on the wall, making it rise. He heard Amy gasp when she saw the candelabras standing in the water and smiled. He knew she would like those.

He pushed the boat up the the edge of the lake and helped Amy out. She stood near the boat and gazed about the room.

"This is where you live?" Amy asked, voice barely audible in her awe.

"Yes." Erik said behind her. "You can look around if you want."

Amy nodded and began to walk around the room. There was an area with a small table covered in papers, a few of which had charcoal drawings or watercolor paintings on them. She picked up a drawing and saw herself reflected in it, her black and white likeness smiling sweetly as she pulled a needle and thread. The others were similar, all of the displaying her smile. She held one and looked over to Erik who stood nearby.

"They're beautiful." She said, laying the drawings out.

"Yes, but they don't do their subject much justice." Erik said. He came over and picked up one of the black and white drawings. "This needs color. Black is not a color I believe you are best displayed in." He set the drawing back down and held his hand to the rest of the room. "Shall I show you more?"

Amy nodded and followed as he led her on a little tour. He casually flipped over a couple papers at his organ as he passed it and drew her attention away when she went to flip them back over. He had her hold an unfinished model of herself as he put the finishing touches to her hair, saying that he could never get the color just right. The little doll wore a frilly, pink gown like her costume and was detailed down to the very shade of her eyes.

Once she set the doll down, Erik let her finish looking around. He stood calmly by as she wandered the back rooms, discovering the beautiful peacock bed. She sat on the edge and ran her fingers over the soft sheets, detecting the scent rose and myrrh in the red velvet covers. She found on the left of the bedroom, a kitchen area complete with a wood-fired oven. To the right of the bed, behind a similar curtain that hung in front of the kitchen, was a small bathroom with a large, claw-foot tub in the center. Amy went back out to find Erik in the same place she had left him.

"You must be hungry." Erik said. "How about I get something to eat?"

Amy nodded and Erik disappeared into the kitchen. She went to the organ and sat on the bench. After looking over her shoulder to see Erik were watching she flipped over the music. On the top of the sheet, scrawled in uneven writing were the words, 'For Amy'. Her heart fluttered as her eyes ran over the music. Only the first page was finished and Amy didn't understand sheet music very well, but she could tell just by looking that the song was beautiful.

She put down the music and went over to the bust of a man with a mask tied onto its face. The mask was just like the one hiding Erik's face, perhaps a spare. Amy untied the mask and examined it. It was smooth, like fine china and followed the contours of his face exactly. The underside, however, was covered with ridges and lumps and Amy wondered what it was made to cover. She ran her hand over the ridges and tried to imagine what it hid and her heart panged with pity.

"Amy, do you like oregano?" Erik called, standing outside the kitchen.

Amy put down the mask and stood, acting natural. "Yes, I like it. What are you making?"

"A cream and potato dish. I hope it's alright. It's all I have right now." Erik said. He went back to the kitchen, but turned back to look at her. "Feel free to look around more if you like."

With that, Erik went back to finish cooking and Amy went back over to look at the drawings. In about half an hour, Erik came out, holding a steaming pot with hot pads. He set the pot down and went back for plates. Together, they dined at the art table which Erik cleared off, neither saying much to the other. Amy refused wine when Erik offered and was almost relieved when they were finished. She offered to help with the dishes, but Erik insisted she should relax. After the plates were cleaned, Erik drew Amy a bath and hung a robe for her to use.

When Amy stepped into the bath, she noticed the unusually silky texture of the water. She smelled roses and guessed there was rose oil lacing the water. She found a washcloth and a white bar of soap and took her time enjoying the decadent bath. When she came out, the bed was made and Erik was nowhere to be seen. She quickly put on a night gown and found Erik in the study, drawing. She came over to him and saw a woman's face appearing on the paper, but it wasn't her. She asked who the woman was, but Erik didn't answer. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he spun around, bewildered.

"Did you say something?" he asked.

"I asked who the woman is your drawing is."

Erik spun back around to see the paper. He gasped at the face in the picture, possessing dark, curly hair and dark eyes. He picked up the picture and jumped out of his seat, cursing. He held the drawing over a nearby candle and set it by the lake to burn. He sat down and held his head in his arms. Amy knelt beside him and watched the paper burn.

"It was a lovely drawing. You didn't have to burn it." she said softly. "Did you know her?"

"Yes. It was complicated." Erik's voice seemed to shake, though she couldn't see his face. "For your sake, I can't remember her."

Amy realized he must have loved the woman in the drawing. She held her peace and tried to change the subject.

"Where will you sleep?"

"Don't worry about me." Erik said. He rose and led her to the bed. "Sleep well. You will need it."


	11. Chapter 10

Amy sleept well under the soft, velvet sheets, though it was a little chilly in Erik's room. As she woke from her slumber, she sensed someone nearby. Amy turned under the covers and was shocked to see Erik's broad shoulders beside her. There was a lot of space between them, as if Erik were almost scared of touching her while she slept. Quietly, Amy got out of the bed and tiptoed around to face Erik. She knelt before him, not surprised he was still wearing his mask... his mask.

Suddenly, a burning need to take the mask off erupted inside her. Amy's heart raced. She reached for his mask. Her fingers were on the edge. He stirred and Amy's attention was drawn from the mask to the rest of Erik's face. As quickly as it came, the urge vanished. Instead, she touched the surface of the mask, its silky surface like that of his spare. She looked at his face, sleeping peacefully and was enchanted. She traced the edges of his mask, across his hairline and down his chin, entranced by his tranquil beauty. He stirred again and Amy jumped up, trying to look like she was leaving.

Amy went to the edge of the room and stretched, as if she just awoke and Erik's eyes fluttered open. He sat up to see her stretch and put a hand on the masked side of his face. He had been awake for a few minutes before Amy, waiting for her to stir. How could she resist the temptation to take his mask off? He admired her trustworthiness and ran his own fingers around his mask. Oh, how he longed for her touch again.

Erik got out of bed and put on his lounge jacket. He knew his sanctuary was cold and offered a coat of some sort to Amy.

"Yes, thank you." she said, hugging her arms.

Erik brought his suit jacket and put it around Amy's shoulders.

"How can you stand it down here?" Amy asked, pulling the jacket tighter. "So cold and lonely."

"I have my music as my companions." He said, motioning to the music stands and organ.

"What kind of friends are those? Your conversations must be really one-sided." Amy said, picking up a nearby piece of music. "I don't get how you're sane. Maybe I could visit more often?"

Erik nodded. "I would like that very much."

Amy smiled and set down the music. Suddenly, she remembered what day it was. "Oh! I have to go back up. Today is the opera!" She frantically moved to the boat, forgetting she was in her nightclothes.

"Wait." Erik said, catching her arm. "The show isn't until evening. You have time to dress and have breakfast."

Amy looked down, realizing what she was wearing. "I guess that would be a good idea." she said with a giggle.

Amy dressed and brushed her hair and together, they made a breakfast of porridge, like Amy used to have at home. When she was ready, Erik helped her into the boat and escorted her back to the surface. Once through the mirror, Amy found that the mirror-room had been fully furnished with a vanity, paintings and plenty of little tables and drawers.

"What's this?" Amy said, entering the room.

"It's your dressing room, for tonight." Erik said, following her in. "The night you become a star."

Am threw her arms around Erik. "I'm so excited now! Thank you!" she said and left the room, a new skip in her step.

Erik smiled. "You're welcome." he said to the air in front of him that used to be Amy. He went back down, leaving the boat docked and took the walking path to his sanctuary. In his study, the wrote a note like the ones two years before, instructing that Box 5 should be left open and that his salary of 20,000 francs was due. He sealed the note and took one of his secret passageways up to the surface and left the note where the maestro would find it, for he was the only member of the original Opera Populaire staff to be re-hired after the disaster. Then, he went back down to prepare for that evening.

After her final solo of Il Muto, for which Amy received a standing ovation, she ducked behind stage and went to her dressing room. There were no flowers yet, but soon, admirers came knocking to deliver their bright, fragrant packages. Amy received the compliments and gifts with a smile, thanking each and every one of her visitors. She shook hands and exchanged the customary french double-kiss with them, not understanding what some of them said. Inwardly, she was glad the show was over and she didn't have to be near Leon anymore. Though Leon was the silent Pageboy, he still had to be close to Amy often, making her uncomfortable. After every rehearsal, she had to calm herself down after being near him for so long.

For nearly an hour, the admirers came, doted and left, more flooding in behind them. Soon, Amy's dressing room was littered with flowers and she had to start setting them on the floor, as every flat surface big enough to hold them was taken. When the admirers had gone, Amy plopped in front of her vanity and began taking her hair jewels out. She looked at her reflection in the tiny mirror and saw Erik's hand before she felt it.

"Erik! You're here!" Amy spun around in her chair and sprang to embrace him. "Did you hear? How did I do?"

Erik embraced Amy back and motioned to the room full of flowers. "You accepted gifts from a thousand admirers for nearly an hour, and you're asking _me_ how you did?"

Erik smiled at her and when she backed away, Erik was holding a single, blood red rose.

"A thousand and _one_ admirers." he said with a sheepish smile.

Amy delicately took the rose as if it were a precious treasure, another broad smile overtaking her face. Around the stem there was a black ribbon tied in a bow. Still holding the rose, Amy hugged Erik again. "Thank you. It's beautiful." she said into his shirt, as she was a bit shorter than he.

She backed away and thought of what Leclair had said before she left. "They're throwing a masquerade to celebrate the success of the opera." Amy said quietly. "I was wondering if you would like to come."

Erik was silent for a moment, hand on his chin. "I think I will. Of course, we're going to have to get costumes."

"That shouldn't be hard." Amy said, eying her own gown. "I can modify this and make a mask by next week and I'm sure Leclair would let you borrow a costume if you asked."

"Don't worry about me." Erik said. "I can handle my own costume."

Amy nodded and sat back down to take her jewelry off. Erik helped take the pins out and they talked of their favorite moments in the show, where Erik could be found if she looked up during a performance (or sometimes, a rehearsal) and whether she would accompany Erik to his sanctuary that night.

Over the next week, Amy spent increasingly more time with Erik when she wasn't preparing for their next performance. She almost completely shunned the upper world as she took longer lessons from Erik, modified her dress and simply spent time with Erik. Gradually, Erik taught Amy new embroidery stitches as he sewed his costume and Amy showed Erik how to dance to English songs, as her father taught her, for Amy knew they would play a few songs from her homeland.

The next week, Amy also grew more relaxed around Erik, his mask becoming a normal feature on his face and she started to ignore it. As the day of the masquerade approached, the two became more and more frantic about finishing their costumes. Amy removed the sleeves and added a wrap to her dress and Erik seemed to be making a costume after the style of the french military. She also caught him once or twice mending a mask that covered both sides of his face and was pitch black. When she asked to see it, he always refused, saying it was a surprise.

I seemed only like a few hours, but soon, Saturday was upon them and the decorations for the ball were almost ready. That day, rehearsal had been canceled to give the cast and crew time to get ready and they were also advised that some of the wealthier patrons and admirers of the opera would be there as well. When Amy got the news that practice was canceled, he raced down to meet Erik as she had been shown where the walking path was and where it was safe to step.

In his sanctuary, they had lunch and put the last tiny touches on their outfits, like sewing on the last few buttons and tying off any loose ends. Then, when their costumes were done, they helped each other into them. Erik's was rather easy as the only tough part was getting the cross-straps to stay down. Amy's, on the other hand, needed more work. There were many layers to her dress including a wire hoop skirt and several petticoats for added padding. Those Amy could do herself, but there were many strings along the open back and the wrap had to be put on like a skirt and buttoned, which she needed help with. Overall, the preparations took about an hour and the rest of the time they waited, Amy and Erik practiced dancing in their costumes. With a few slight changes to their dance, they were as graceful as they were without the restricting costumes.

Just before the ball was to begin, Amy tied on her mask and Erik helped put the costume jewels in her hair again and they ascended to the surface. Before they went up, Erik put on his black mask, revealing his 'surprise'. It was a lovely creation, seeming to be made of shards from a white and black mask, the glue lines painted over with silver to give a broken-heart feeling to it. Amy could sense Erik was nervous as she held his hand and tried to reassure him.

"You look great." she said as they stood by the dressing room door. "There's nothing to worry about. It's a masquerade! Like they say, 'you could fool any friend who ever knew you'."

She pushed open the doors and led Erik out to the light. The music had already started and they seemed to be the last to arrive. The song wasn't familiar to Amy, but she danced to it nonetheless.

The night seemed to last forever. There was wine and cake and all sorts of snacks from all different countries. There were even tea-flavored candies from England. Amy had only a few sips of wine, but stuck to mostly fizzy juice and champagne. They danced to many French and Austrian tunes, but Amy was able to drag Erik out to dance to two English tunes requested in her honor. Near the end of the evening, the main cast of Il Muto was awarded with gifts of silk flowers and applause, but none so beautiful and loud as Amy's.

Then, as the night neared a close, the last dance was announced. Amy took Erik's hand as he fit his other on her waist. Then, almost out of nowhere, Leon's hands replaced Erik's and he spun Amy out of Erik's reach.

"Lovely performance the other night." Leon said, staring down into Amy's eyes. "I wanted to tell you, but of course, the Pageboy is mute."

"Thank you." Amy said. She didn't want to speak much to him, but didn't want to try to run away in the middle of a crowd. "You did quite well also."

"Thank you." Leon said. He spun Amy across the floor for a while before speaking again. "Why don't you take off your mask. Why can't we see that beautiful face?"

"It's a masquerade. I shouldn't take off my mask now when I've worn it for so long already."

"I haven't worn my mask since I got here. Most everyone has discarded their masks already. Why not you?" Erik was trying to catch up, but Leon nimbly lifted Amy off her feet and spun gracefully out of the way.

"I just wanted to match my partner tonight." Amy said. She felt her heart begin to beat faster as Leon inquired, but she didn't know why.

"Why doesn't he take off his mask then?" Leon asked, glancing over at the rather frustrated Erik.

"Oh, he has his reasons." Amy said, trying to sound flighty. "It's mostly because he likes to remain anonymous at parties." Amy was glad she wore gloves, for her hands were sweating profusely now.

"I see." Leon said. "I just hope he's not hiding anything. You two just seem so close. I would hate it if he hid things from you. That always hurts relationships."

Amy said nothing and was relieved when the song ended soon after. Leon smiled eerily, kissed Amy's hand and bowed away. Erik caught up in the throng soon after.

"He stole the last dance from me." Erik said. "What did he want?"

"Oh, he was just congratulating me on last week's performance and asked why I kept my mask on. Nothing out of the ordinary." Amy lied. She thought of what Leon said, but casually ignored it.

Erik pursed his lips. "Alright. If you say so." he took Amy's hand and led her through the crowd, as the guests began to disperse slowly. "How about we get out of these costumes?"

Amy nodded and they descended through the mirror to the sanctuary, helped one another out of the costumes and dressed for bed. Erik then led Amy up a secret passage to the dormitory where they said their good nights and Amy went to bed.

Back in the sanctuary, Erik sat at his organ and sighed. He had one of the best nights of his life. He began to daydream about Amy, letting his mind wander as he went to bed. That night he fell asleep and dreamed, for once in a long time not about terrifying men with scourges or evil laughter, but of dancing with Amy in the clouds where they spun to the music of the wind, dressed in the night sky, and jeweled with stars.


	12. Chapter 11

The practices and rehearsals continued on the next day and Amy was always wary of Leon's presence since the night before. What he said had resurfaced as they worked through a rather tough ballet scene in their fairy-themed opera. With Leon now as the Fairy King and Madame Gapon (otherwise known to Amy as the Sugar Plum Fairy) as his Wood Nymph bride, Amy could relax a little. Amy was Gapon's understudy, so all she had to do was practice backstage and watch the performance as often as she could.

Amy had mentioned her position as an understudy to Erik and he hadn't seemed pleased. She caught him writing frantically on his stationary and disappear for a short while and guessed he was trying to switch the parts, but Amy was quite alright with her position. She believed she deserved and, frankly, wanted a short break after Il Muto. She hated performing with Leon, but hated the anticipation of performance even more, and as Gapon was quite a skilled actress, it seemed fitting that she should share the limelight as well. After all, she was native and Amy had only performed once.

Nevertheless, Erik continued training Amy to perform as the Wood Nymph princess, seeming to grow ever more tense as the performance neared.

Once, while the cast was doing one of their final rehearsals, a scene wall dropped, nearly hitting Madame Gapon, but as her nymph garb was light and loose, she got out of the way in time. The occurrence seemed to frighten the maestro quite a lot, but the rehearsal went on as normal soon after. As the last few days waned, Erik grew more anxious. Then, on the day before the performance, Gapon was injured.

It was just before the final rehearsal, after Gapon had the finishing touches put on her makeup. Backstage it was rather dark, for it was customary to lower the lights and practice for real the night before. Gapon had the misfortune of stepping in a loop of rope just when a sandbag fell. The jolt hurt her ankle rather badly and she had to have it splinted right away by the nearest doctor. She would not be able to perform the next day, so Amy was quickly dressed, made up and put onstage to rehearse in Gapon's place.

Amy thought the incident was rather unfortunate, but there was something strange about it she couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps is was a simple coincidence or run of bad luck because the rope, on further examination, was found to be lightly rotted and was weak enough to suddenly break. So, coincidence or not, Amy was to perform the next night as the Wood Nymph princess. Amy wasn't entirely ecstatic about the promotion, but was a little happy that she was spared all of the rehearsing with Leon.

That evening, as was almost customary now, Amy's lesson was canceled so she could bathe and sleep in Erik's sanctuary. When she entered the room, she found Erik, as usual, at his organ, writing.

"Erik." Amy called as she came over to him. "Madame Gapon had a bad accident today. I'm performing tomorrow."

Erik turn around in his seat and smiled. "Good, very good!" He rose and grabbed Amy's arms. "Not for Madame Gapon of course, but you get to stun another audience!"

"I know." Amy said, looking away. "But it doesn't feel right. It seems like I've stolen her place."

"It's alright, Amy." Erik said reassuringly. "Accidents like this happen. That's why they have people like you to be ready in case of these accidents." He embraced her and Amy's face softened. Now, she was kind of happy, but not for Madame Gapon, the poor soul, but for her promotion.

Then, Erik went to draw Amy's bath and after taking her time in the water, Amy climbed into Erik's bed and went to sleep soon after.

* * *

><p>The next day, the opera went off without a hitch. Once again, Amy received a standing ovation at curtain call, louder than Leon's when he took his bow and once again, Amy received gifts of flowers from old and new admirers. But spectators weren't her only visitors. That evening, Leon came into the dressing room, still clad in his sparkly fairy costume.<p>

"You did it, didn't you?" He demanded even before Amy could greet him.

Amy stood, sensing his anger. "What do you mean? Did what?"

"You know what I mean!" Said Leon, drawing nearer. "Gapon. You did it. I know it."

Amy realized he was talking about Madame Gapon's accident. "No, no. That was an accident. The rope was rotten. I was talking with Joette backstage."

"A fantastic coverup." Leon said. "But I know you wanted the part. I saw it in you."

"No, Leon, I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken I didn't do anything. It was an accident. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone my arse!" Leon said. He clenched his fists, making his knuckles white. "Everyone has been saying you did it. Even Joette. She told me herself."

"No, you really are mistaken. I think this is a huge misunderstanding and you just need to-"

Leon's fist came across Amy's cheek. Amy was sent sprawling to the ground ears ringing and head spinning. She clutched her face and he bent to deliver another blow when the mirror flew open. Erik caught Leon just before his blow landed and knocked him on his back. Erik hit Leon on the jaw and, while he was stunned, brought Leon to his feet, holding him by his shirt.

"Don't you ever touch her again," snarled Erik. "Or as God's my judge, I'll tear you apart." Erik shoved Leon against the door. "Get out."

"Now I see. You're accomplices. I'll make sure you have justice." Leon said.

"Out!" Erik opened the door and shoved Leon out, locking the door behind him.

He went to Amy who was now sobbing. He knelt beside her and held her close, stroking her hair and whispering comforts to her. When her breathing had steadied a little, he helped her to rise and took her by boat to his sanctuary. She changed in the bathroom, sniffling, and fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Amy woke just after Erik. She rose and put on a dressing gown and when she came around the corner, caught Erik putting on a black hairpiece. She stopped abruptly and watched. The hair underneath was light brown and quite messy and in the reflection of the mirror he used, she saw a red patch where his mask usually was. Leon's words echoed in her mind as Erik put on his mask.<p>

Once she was sure she had not been seen, Amy came out and approached Erik. She put out her hands and Erik took them with a peaceful smile. Amy's stomach twisted in knots as she built up her courage and tried to keep her words slow as she spoke.

"I was hoping you would show me your face." She said, almost at a whisper. She opened her mouth to add something, but no words came out.

Erik withdrew his hands and turn around. "No." he said. "I'm not ready, you're not ready to see me yet. Not yet."

Amy, though a little disappointed, came over and took his hands again. "It's okay. I can wait as long as you need." She held his hands gently, stroking his knuckles. Then, barely thinking about it, she brought one of them to her face. His palm was soft and warm and smelled vaguely of roses. She stepped closer and raised her other hand to Erik's face. She hadn't imagined it would be so soft and smooth. Then, as if for the first time, their eyes met, Erik's aqua meeting her blue. There was something immensely sad and pleading in his eyes, something that cried for help though it could not make a sound. And overwhelming urge overtook the two and, nearly simultaneously, they leaned together, the gap between their mouths vanishing to nothing.

There they stood for a few moments, taking everything in about one another, smells, warmth, breath. When they separated, it was as if the two were completely different people. Amy finally fully realized what was happening. Before she had been blind, but now she could see that the two were much more than teacher and student, than mentor and protege. Now, they were much more, they were part of each other.

Once the moment faded, the two had breakfast, exchanging gentle caresses as they cooked. Once they had washed up and changed, Erik saw Amy to the mirror and wished her a happy day off. The rest of that day, Amy could think of nothing but Erik and his warm embrace, of his gentle touch and intoxicating presence.

* * *

><p>The next day, Amy was coming back to the stage from her lunch break, ready to continue rehearsal. Today was mainly a music day, so every character was onstage, save the dancers who were not needed. Some of the ballerinas liked to sit backstage to listen and gossip, which they were just returning to do. The company was doing a production of Hannibal, honoring the Opera's past glory, but instead of La Carlotta, they had Amelia Lucien, the new star of the Opera Populaire. Amy was onstage, ready to continue the song they were working on when a shrill shriek came from backstage.<p>

The opera company, including the manager who had been watching that day's practice ran back to find a pale ballerina standing stiff with fear near the cold corpse of a stage hand. There was a rope around his neck and there were signs of a struggle, so it was not suicide.

The manager and Leon pushed through the murmuring crowd and the former went ghostly pale when he saw the body. Leon glanced over at Amy who held her hands over her mouth in astonishment. The maestro looked to Leclair and in unison the two whispered 'Opera Ghost'.


	13. Chapter 12

The maestro and Leclair pulled black-rimmed notes out of their coat pockets, eyes wide. A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd when they heard the eerie name.

Amy looked at the cold body, pictures of Harlequin flashing through her mind. Her head spun and everything went black.

A few moments later, or it could have been hours later, Amy couldn't tell, she was woken by a nearby ballerina. When she sat up, she saw a group of men nearby, conversing quietly. She saw Leon among their ranks and her stomach dropped. Leon knew what Erik looked like and where to find him.

Soon after, the company was dismissed on account of the catastrophe and, after regaining her balance, Amy tried to act casual as she headed for her dressing room. She tried to be quiet about it, but soon she was followed by Leon. Once out of everyone else's sight, she picked up her pace and tried to get to the door before him. She was reaching for the door when Leon caught up, spun her around and held her against the door.

"Don't do it, Leon." Amy pleaded. "I know what you're doing and don't go through with it. He's a good man. he doesn't deserve this." Amy suspected that Leon killed the stage hand and would pin both the murders of Harlequin and the stage hand on Erik.

"I know who killed your dear Harlequin man." Leon said, so close she could feel his words on her face. "I wouldn't trust your murderer boyfriend if I were you. He wears a mask, so what else could he be hiding?" With that, Leon left, fists clenched, but otherwise leaving Amy unharmed.

Shaken, Amy slipped into her dressing room and ran directly for Erik's sanctuary, images of Harlequin and the stage hand flashing through her mind. Her memory went back to the day she held Erik's mask, the ridges and valleys it hid. If he hid his face so, what else might he be hiding?

Amy burst into Erik's sanctuary and ran up to him where he was pouring over a piece of music. Mad with panic, she grabbed his shoulders when she stood, babbling wildly about murder, Leon and fleeing.

Eventually, Erik calmed Amy down and managed to get her to say what was wrong. Amy took another deep breath and told Erik of what had happened, of the dead stage hand, Leon's accusations and the Harlequin man and how she suspected that Leon would charge him with both murders.

"I promise you Amy, as God's my judge, I didn't kill the stage hand." Erik's hands rested on Amy's shoulders as he looked into her eyes.

"But, what about the Harlequin man?" Amy asked, a new worry forming in her voice.

Erik didn't say anything and turned away.

"Erik. What about him? Tell me, please!" Amy clutched the neck of her dress, a feeling of dread rising inside her.

Erik stays silent again, distressing Amy more. He won't meet her eye and Amy despairs.

"Oh God... oh, God. It was you! You killed him!" the words felt like bitter poison on Amy's tongue and she couldn't believe her own mouth. Erik gave the tiniest of nods and Amy's face went pale. She burst into tears and dropped to the floor. How could her sweet, gentle, sad Erik be capable of such violence? Erik reached for her, trying to comfort her, but she batted his hand away, scrambled to her feet and ran out of the sanctuary.

Erik watched as she fled, rage building. She just didn't understand. He was trying help her! The man was wicked and deserved death, no matter by whose hand. Erik had a burning need to break something and a nearby crystal glass shattered on the floor. He stripped the cloth off of a broken mirror and ran up, out of his sanctuary, into the winter snow.

* * *

><p>Amy sat by the stairs leading up to the dressing room mirror, stifling her sobs in her skirt. her tears flowed as she struggled with a single question within her heart. Should she forgive Erik and go back, or should she leave and turn him in? She sobbed and struggled for a few minutes before one option won over the other. Amy pulled herself to her feet and set one foot in front of the other, leading herself back to the sanctuary. Perhaps killing the Harlequin man was all Erik knew how to do to protect her. Perhaps in his solitude he developed a rage that took itself out on those who harmed the objects of his affections.<p>

Amy returned to the sanctuary to find that Erik was nowhere to be found. The only clues she had were a shattered glass and a draft coming from a shattered mirror. Upon inspection of the mirror, she found it led out of the sanctuary on a steep incline, through a trap door, out into the open air. Snow had fallen recently, so it was easy to follow Erik's staggered footsteps. The path seemed vaguely familiar and Amy realized Erik went to the chapel down the road.

At the chapel stairs, Amy saw Erik's white shirt at the bottom of the same crucifix she drew strength from nearly a month before. He sat before it, hand on the bottom tip, repeating the two words 'forgive me'. Amy knelt beside him in the snow and gently pulled Erik away from the cross. She held him close, stroking his hair. She could feel even through her dress that he was freezing.

"Forgive me, Amy. Please, please, please forgive me. Forgive me." he said, tears soaking his face.

"I have. I've forgiven you. You just need to let God forgive you. Let it go." Erik's sobs erupted once more, dropping on Amy's skirt as she held him. His shoulders relaxed and he put his arms around Amy. Then, wet with tears, Erik's mask came loose and fell to the ground. Immediately, Erik pressed his hand to his face and jumped backward. Amy reached out to him, but he drew further away.

"It's alright. It's alright." Amy cooed. "The Lord made you just as he needed you to be and if the perfect Lord thinks you are good, than I think so, too." Amy gently drew Erik's hand from his face and lifted his chin. She tried not to seem astonished, but she couldn't hide her wide eyes and jerk of her hand. Erik jumped back again, hand to his face.

"You see? I'm hideous! A burning carcass." He backed up against the wall, a new crop of tears beginning to fall.

"No, no." Amy insisted. She took Erik's hand away again and stroked his face. The skin was red and wrinkled like bad leather. His nose was stretched to the side and his eye sagged badly. She ran her thumb over the rough surface, taking in the strangeness of his face. "You're so, so beautiful." She leaned down and kissed his deformed cheek.

Erik slid his arms around Amy and kissed her back. Amy pulled away, swiping the snow off of her dress. "Not here." she said. "Not now." She held out her hand and helped Erik and and walked him back to the opera. They entered through the trap door and Amy has Erik get out of his wet clothes and wrap himself in blankets. She drew Erik a bath and while Erik bathed, she cleaned up the glass shard, cooked a warm dinner and uncorked a bottle of wine.

When Erik came out, Amy had just finished setting the table. They ate in relative silence and finished off the bottle of wine together. Once they were done, Amy insisted that Erik go to bed or at least put warmer clothes on. She helped Erik into bed and when she went to hug him goodnight, Erik pulled her close and kissed her.

Amy wasn't sure what it was, maybe the wine or her own natural urges, but Amy kissed back and when Erik's hand reached for her dress strings, she responded by reaching for his belt. Amy felt his breath heave as her dress fell open and her own heart raced as Erik shirt came off.

"The mask." Amy said through breaths. If she were going to do this with him, she was going to do it with nothing hidden.

Erik seemed to understand and took off his mask. He tossed it on the floor and the two peeled each other's clothes off.

* * *

><p>The reader can guess what happened next.<p> 


End file.
